


The False Shame of Fools

by Disasteriffic_Kaz



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen, Horror, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-10
Updated: 2013-01-10
Packaged: 2017-11-24 09:20:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/632835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Disasteriffic_Kaz/pseuds/Disasteriffic_Kaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean find an old spirit with new tricks. Can they stop it before it stops them? Post season7 The Mentalists. stand alone hunt. hurt!sam hurt!dean and a little limpage. Contains some gore and language. nothing you haven't heard from the boys.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title: The False Shame of Fools
> 
> Author: Disasteriffic Kaz
> 
> Author's note: While not the first FanFic I've ever written, I've written tons, this is the first one I ever shared so hopefully you'll all enjoy reading as much as I enjoy writing.

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**CHAPTER 1**

Dean thumped into the crypt wall, the air whooshing out of his lungs. He briefly toyed with the idea of passing out in a very manly fashion but instead, struggled back to his feet with a muttered: "Son of a bitch." Sam was wrestling with the Ghoul. It towered over his giant younger brother at a whopping seven feet. Just their luck the thing had snacked on the local Basketball teams' star center before they got to it.

"Dean!" Sam called, the Ghoul pushing his legs out from under him with sheer force. It angled toward his neck, jaws wide.

"Oh no you don't." Dean swept his hatchet from the floor. He jumped on top of a stone coffin and, with a practiced swing, bit clear through the Ghoul's neck. It collapsed in a heap as its head toppled to the side and Dean grinned at his little brother gasping his way back to his feet. "Gettin' soft, Sammy."

"Says the guy who was…" Sam's sentence cut off with a grunt when the Ghoul's leg snapped out, kicking him viciously in the thigh. He tumbled backwards, Dean cursing and watched it surge to its feet. The head hung at an impossible angle still attached by what looked like sinew and brain stem. Dean's slice hadn't been clean enough.

"Now you're just pissin me off." Dean growled and hacked past the reaching arms to finish severing the head. This time it fell away and hit the crypt floor with a wet splat as the body toppled the other way, dead at last. Sam came up beside his brother, bent over rubbing his thigh and opened his mouth. "Don't say it, Sammy." Dean warned. "I'm still holding the hatchet." Sam closed his mouth and settled for a smirk instead. "Let's burn this thing and get out. I need a shower."

Sam hobbled over to their bag for the lighter fluid and said "And better aim." Under his breath.

"You say something?" Dean asked, hefting the axe and Sam shrugged with a grin. "That's what I thought." The burn went quickly, Dean studiously ignoring the occasional chuckle from Sam and they headed back to the crappy motel of the week.

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"Sam?"

"Dean."

"Don't 'Dean' me, little brother. You think I didn't see you limp up those stairs? How's the leg?" Dean fixed piercing green eyes on his sibling, raising his brows to say 'don't give me crap on this.'

Sam rolled expressive, hazel eyes to the ceiling, blew dark hair from his eyes and sat on the edge of his bed. "Fine. Jerk."

Dean snorted. "Drop 'em, bitch."

Sam struggled to keep the disgusted look off his face. As irritating as 'Daddy Dean' could be, he couldn't help but admit to himself he had missed it, Dean. His brother. Both of them alive and…well…alive. He wasn't willing to damage the newfound peace they had with each other since Lilydale only two weeks before. He undid his belt and stood to shove his battered jeans down below his knees and sank back to the bed. "It's just a bruise, man." Dean hissed through his teeth and bent to get a better look at the massive bruise just above Sam's right knee. It was the size of his fist, quickly purpling and he would have swore he was actually watching it swell.

He raised his eyes to meet Sam's. "Just a bruise?"

"Doesn't even hurt much." Sam smiled.

"Uh huh." Dean placed his hand atop the bruise and gently pressed. It was enough. A cold sweat broke out across his brothers' face as he quickly sucked in a gasp of air. "No arguments, Sam. You're letting me wrap this or you won't be walking tomorrow." Dean went to rummage in his bag for the first aid kit. "Just a bruise." He said and shook his head.

"Not my fault I got donkey kicked by a seven foot Ghoul. You're the one who didn't get its head off."

Dean sat down across from him, ace bandage in hand and grinned wickedly. "You sure you wanna point out shortcomings to the guy who's gonna have your leg in his hands?"

"Good point." Sam laughed. "I withdraw the comment."

"This is deep tissue bruising, Sammy." Dean straightened the leg. "This is gonna hurt like a bitch."

Sam grunted as Dean pulled the first wrap of the bandage tight. Sweat broke out on his face again and Sam concentrated on the hideous, paisley wallpaper of their motel room. He counted the cracks in the ceiling and then the stains on the brown, threadbare carpet and did his best to ignore the hot pokers digging into his thigh. Dean worked quickly, knowing Sam was in agony. Even so, his little brother let only a few pained grunts escape but he was covered in a cold sweat. Dean pulled the end of the bandage tight and fixed it in place.

"There you go, Buddy." He patted Sam's good knee and rose. "I'll go grab some ice."

"Thanks, Dean." Sam managed, voice thin with pain.

"Yeah, well, don't get used to it." Dean grabbed the ice bucket from the bathroom and went for the door, smirking. "Back on the road tomorrow, Princess."

Despite the pain, Sam heaved a pillow at his brothers head as he laughed out the door. Sam grinned once the door was shut and shook his head. "Jerk." He toed off his shoes and got his jeans the rest of the way off before pushing himself back to the headboard. He was glad Dean wasn't there to hear the whimper as he got his leg up on the bed. Sam dropped his head back with an exhausted thump and closed his eyes.

Dean found him that way when he returned. Head back, eyes closed and gently snoring. He gave a small shake of his head. "Bitch." He dug out a ziplock baggy and filled it with ice. Then propped it on Sam's thigh with a pillow. His little brother still wore his jacket and shirt, bare legs sticking out and Dean decided to leave it rather than wake him. He pulled the thin duvet from the far side of the bed and covered his legs and sighed.

Part of him was still braced for Sam's marbles to go spilling across the floor again. It was an ever present worry at the back of his mind. If he was honest with himself, Purgatory's most wanted loose in the world didn't scare him half so much as losing his brother again. "Not gonna happen." He said softly with a fierce look at the sleeping face, peaceful for a change, and headed into the bathroom to check his own bruises.

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The rumble of the engine as they sped East made Dean grind his teeth. He flexed his grip on the steering wheel and glared at the dash. "I want my baby back." He growled. Sam chuckled beside him.

"Hey I miss her too."

Dean glanced over. Even with his seat all the way back, Sam's knees were still on a level with the bottom of the window. "Sasquatch." Dean tossed at him but inwardly smiled. The Impala was home for them and it warmed him to know they both missed her comforts.

Sam snorted. "So, what did Bobby say is in Ohio?"

"A job." Dean answered. Needling Sam was an old past time he was rediscovering his love for.

"Hah. Hah. What kind of job, smart-ass?"

"Our kind." Dean aimed an innocent smile toward the passenger seat, happy to see it was working.

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, praying for patience with the teenage older brother he was suddenly riding with. "Dean."

"Yes, Sammy?" Came the sugar sweet response and Sam growled. Dean laughed and punched his brother lightly in the arm. "Lighten up man." He relented at Sam's long suffering bitch face. "Ok, ok. Bobby says seven people have gone missing in this hole in the wall little town. Sunbury?"

"Why's he think it's our sort of job?" Sam reached under his seat, pulling out a stack of maps and dug out Ohio's.

"Locked rooms, buckets of blood and no bodies." Dean raised his brows and Sam nodded.

"Ok. I'd say that qualifies." Sam made some measurements on the map as they drove beneath the 'Welcome to Ohio' arch. "Should take us about three hours to get there." And he rattled directions off to Dean.

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Maria Schuper banged through her front door, slammed it shut and leaned back with a groan. She dropped her purse on the wood floor and plucked a name badge from her shirt, tossing it down the hall with relish. Some days waiting tables was, hands down, the worst job ever. She ran an exasperated hand through her black curls. "God I hate stupid people!" She locked the door and stepped out of her heels on the way to kitchen. "I need a drink."

Maria grabbed the vodka bottle out of the cupboard, a glass from the sink and poured herself a healthy shot. She knocked it back, moaning in pleasure. She poured a second and then wrinkled her nose in distaste.

"What…is that smell?" She groaned and swallowed the second drink before beginning a search for whatever had gone rotten while she was at work. To her, it smelled a bit like rotting fruit; sickly sweet and as she bent to look under her table the smell intensified, making her gag.

A rustling sound behind her froze her in place. Panic ran round and round her head. Burglar, mugger, rapist oh god who had gotten into her house! The sound came again and she gasped in terror. The stench was making her eyes water now. Maria jerked to her feet and whirled to see who had snuck up on her and screamed.

-tbc


	2. Chapter 2

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CHAPTER 2

Sam waited in the car while Dean got them a room and rubbed his right thigh, trying to work out the ache. Nine hours cramped in the car hadn't helped it any and he was eager to get out. Dean came up the driver side and slid behind the wheel with a grin.

"Ok. Got us a room and a fresh crime scene!" Dean pulled out and headed behind the office to the back of the motel complex, peering through the dusky light at the room numbers.

"New victim?" Sam asked and Dean nodded.

"Oh yeah. Motel manager says a waitress at the diner down the street is gone like the others just in the last couple hours." He spied their room pulled the car up to the door. "So let's get settled and go play FBI."

"Sounds like a plan." Sam unfolded himself out of the car, took a step and ended slapping his hands on the hood to stay standing. All those hours sitting were having their way with his abused leg. "Shit!" He hissed in surprise.

"Sammy?" Dean bolted around the car and grabbed his arm. "You alright?"

"It's ok." Sam smiled tightly. "Just stiffened up in the car."

"You sure?" Dean watched his face closely, knowing from past experience Sam wasn't above downplaying an injury to his own detriment.

"Geez Dean, I'm not five." Sam gave him a brotherly shove and limped to their door. "I just need to walk out the kinks."

Dean tossed him the room key. "You say so." He shrugged and popped the trunk to get their gear. "But you fall down and I'm laughin. Fair warning."

Sam snorted a laugh and opened the door. Dean's over protective streak of late was giving him fits but he meant well and Sam could hardly blame him, all things considered. Sam flipped on the light and scrunched his face. Unless he was mistaken, the carpet and walls were…pink. "Oh boy."

Dean stepped up behind him and bumped his shoulder. "Out of the way Sasquatch." Sam stepped aside and waited.

"What the crap!" Dean shouted, dropping the bags inside the door. "Did a case of Pepto throw up in here? Oh hell no!" He turned to find Sam smothering a laugh. "Grab the bags. We're staying somewhere else."

"Chill Dean." Sam patted his brothers shoulder and pushed the door shut.

"Dude we are NOT staying in Barbies frakking lodge room!" Green eyes flashed at Sam and Dean pointed. "There's a Moose head…over the beds! Who DOES that!"

Sam gave up and laughed. He grabbed his bag off the floor and limped to the far bed. "It's not that bad man. We've stayed in worse."

Dean stood defiant for a moment then kicked his bag before dumping it on his bed. "Keep laughin chuckles." Dean warned.

"Get your suit on." Sam wiped his eyes and headed to the bathroom with his own under his arm.

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They parked a block down from the crime scene, well beyond the flashing lights strobing the darkness. The neighborhood looked like it was taking a slow slide out of posh into urban mess. Houses with cracked paint and brown lawns lined either side of the street and despite the commotion, there weren't any spectators beyond the cracked curtains and pulled blinds in a few of the neighbors windows. Autumn had found Ohio and while not freezing, there was a definite chill in the air and the leaves had begun to turn on the trees lining the sidewalk.

Dean adjusted his irksome tie and slid a glance at Sam. "How's the leg?"

"Better." Sam lengthened his stride with a grin, outstripping his brother easily. "Told you I just needed to walk it out."

Dean grumbled something about freakish long legs as they ducked under the yellow tape and saw when the lone officer out front spotted them. She was short, not much over five feet, blond curls tumbled out beneath her hat and a Sherriff's badge prominent on her chest, emphasizing her curvaceous figure. "Dayum." Dean said softly with a grin. Sam elbowed him and pulled his fake ID as they reached her.

"Sherriff? I'm Agent Jones." He gestured at Dean. "My partner Agent Dolenz."

She examined the badges held out briefly and then smiled wickedly up at Sam. "I'm Sherriff Wilkes. Didn't know the Feds came in tall, dark and tasty."

Sam couldn't help the flush that crept up his face and ignored the muffled laugh from his big brother beside him. "Uh..yeah." Sam dragged a hand through his hair, embarrassed as she continued to take him in. "So, we're here about the disappearances?"

"What can you tell us about this one?" Dean swallowed his laughter with difficulty. It had been a while since he'd Sam fumble with an attractive woman. Sherriff Wilkes pulled hungry eyes away from Sam and gave Dean the same appraising once over, mouth lifting in a smile.

"Sure you boys have read the reports. Neighbor heard screams, called 911. By the time officers arrived, well they had to bust the door in and found the victim gone and the kitchen painted in blood. Same as all the others. Not that I'm not appreciating the eye candy but why's the FBI interested all of a sudden?"

"We were nearby on another case. Just wrapped up." Dean lied easily. "Got the tip to come take a look since we were in the area."

"Mind if we head in for a look?" Sam felt his blush deepen when the diminutive Sherriff turned her gaze back to him, sky blue eyes looking lazily up…and up to his.

"Knock yourself out handsome. I have to head back to the station. Crime scene team's still in there so stay out of their way."

"Thanks, Sherriff." Dean turned Sam away toward the house and as they walked up the lawn, distinctly heard the Sherriff's voice.

"Damn I'd like to climb that."

"Oh my god." Sam dropped his burning face into his hand as Dean thumped him on the back with a laugh.

"Dude! She wants to use you like a firepole!"

"Dean!" Sam groaned and worked at banishing the blush that still suffused his face.

"Hey man, if Officer Naughty wants to play Cops and Robbers I say go for it!" Dean grinned and opened the front door of the house with a flourish.

"You're not right. You know that?" Sam rolled his eyes and stepped inside.

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The scene that awaited them in the kitchen drove their good humor away. Blood decorated the beige walls like a child's fingerpaints. On the floor between the table and the island counter glistened a foot wide pool of deep red. Amidst all that blood somehow the bottle of Vodka on the counter had escaped, standing clean and Dean hoped the poor woman had had time for a last drink.

"Crime scene photos are never gonna do this justice." Sam said softly. He turned away from the white suited technicians crawling through the house and slipped an EMF meter out of his jacket. Dean peered around his arm, brows raising as the needle bleeped its way up and then buried.

"Whoa." Dean breathed and then wrinkled his nose. "Dude, you smell that?"

"Huh?" Sam put the meter away then breathed deeply through his nose. "Is that…I don't know. Rotting fruit maybe?" He looked about and then pointed. One of the techs had the refrigerator open.

"Chick needed to clean out the fridge." Dean said and they both wrote off the scent and slipped out of the kitchen to make a quick search of the rest of the house.

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A half hour search netted them nothing and the brothers Winchester had left and decided to check out another of the crime scenes. They pulled up in front of the seventh victims house. Unlike the last, no cruisers sat in the drive. Only a stripe of yellow across the front door of the darkened home gave evidence something bad had happened.

"What do you think?" Sam asked, glancing around the quiet neighborhood. There were only two streetlights and one of those was dark, shadowing the front of the victim's house.

"Back." Dean said firmly. "It may be late but I don't wanna chance Mr. Rogers across the street getting up for a pee and spotting us."

They ducked quickly along the hedgerow lining the house and slipped around behind the house. Sam jogged quietly up the steps, drawing out his lockpicks and bent to the door, squeezing his eyes when his knee twinged. Dean stood beside him, facing out to the tree covered lawn, gun now in hand to watch his brothers back. Sam worked quickly. The deadbolt really wasn't a challenge and popped open after a mere ten seconds.

"Shall we?" Sam stood, exchanging the picks for his gun and a mag-light. Dean nodded. Sam eased the door open and Dean took point, stepping quickly ahead of Sam into the darkness.

"Where'd this guy get whacked?" Dean asked quietly.

"Upstairs. Master bedroom at the back." Sam had put his three hours cramped in the car to good use researching the case.

"I'll go up. You check down here." Dean didn't wait for an argument and headed for the stairs.

Sam shook his head, sweeping his light along the hall. His big brother was still determined to stand in front of him. Sam snorted. When he let him. The house was eerily silent. He knew from his research that the victims' wife and kid had refused to set foot inside it again and who could blame them, he thought. Chrome fixtures in the kitchen glared in the beam of his light. He stepped into the dining room and shone his light on the table.

Dinner had been laid out, was sitting there still, going slowly rotten. Upturned dishes and a broken glass on the floor told him of the panic and terror they must have felt on hearing the father's screams from the floor above. Whatever it was, it didn't worry about being caught in the act.

"Sammy!" Dean's voice came down the stairs. "You need to come up here."

Sam backtracked to the stairs, feeling the hair on his arms raise as he headed up. Dean waited for him at the top. "What'd you find?"

Dean shook his head. "Nope. See for yourself. I'm not sure I'm not just imagining it." He led his now confused brother down the hall and pointed at the door to the master bedroom. Sam stepped carefully into the room. He took in the congealed puddle of blood at the foot of the bed and the sprays of more on the walls and ceiling and shook his head. He took a breath and then frowned. Sam took another and looked back at Dean with wide eyes.

"You smell it, right?" Dean smiled. "Rotten fruit, like the last house and the needle on the EMF buried itself again."

"What the hell is this thing?" Sam asked and shook his head again. "Time to hit the books and call Bobby, man."

"Yeah." Dean backed up to let Sam out. "We need to know how to gank this thing."

"Have to find it first." Sam added. They left quickly, Sam rubbing his arms absently, unable to put aside the feeling that something, some menace, had still been there in the house.

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"Time to refuel." Dean tossed their father's journal to the bed, it offering no insight on their hunt. He shook his head when Sam didn't even look up from his laptop. "Sam."

"Hmm?" Came the vague response.

"Building's on fire, Sam."

"Is not." Sam said quickly and looked up at his brother with a smirk. He brushed his hair from weary eyes.

"May as well be." Dean groaned and stood. "We've been at this for hours and we've still got no idea what this thing is so food. Now."

"You go." Sam went back to his screen. "Not really hungry." He startled back when Dean pushed the laptop closed on his fingers.

"You may not think you're hungry but that hulk body of yours still needs to be fed." He fixed Sam with a glare. "You've got five while I brush my fuzzy teeth." Dean left him gaping and shut himself in the bathroom. He turned on the faucet and then just leaned his forehead against the mirror. Sam still wasn't eating enough or sleeping enough and the frustration of knowing what he was trying to cope with and not being able to 'fix' it for him nagged at Dean. He was the big brother. Taking care of Sam was his job. The helplessness of this made Dean want to crawl under the bed and never come out. Add in the Leviathan and he didn't know if he was ever going to take a deep breath again.

"Dude!" Sam spluttered to Dean's back indignantly as he shut the bathroom door behind him. "Not cool." Sam muttered. He popped his laptop screen back up and started saving his search results in resignation. There was little point in arguing with Dean in that mood.

"Sammy. Sammy. Sammy."

Sam twitched and flicked his eyes over to where Lucifer now sat on Dean's bed, one leg swinging over the side back and forth, an understanding smile on his face. Sam closed his eyes tight and began pressing his right thumb into his left palm. "Not real." He said softly to himself and dug his nail into his palm as Lucifer chuckled. The pain worked, silence fell and Sam opened his eyes to find himself alone in the room once more. He blew out a breath in relief.

The bathroom door opened and Dean strode out, grabbing his car keys off the bureau. "Let's go, Cochise." Sam snorted and followed him out.

"The diner the waitress worked at is just up the road." Sam suggested.

"Trust you to find a way to combine food and research. Geek." Dean grumbled, trying to forget the image of Sam hunched in his chair, rubbing his palm with fear on his face. It had been a fleeting look as he'd opened the bathroom door but it had been enough to dim his appetite. For Sam's sake he pretended he was still starving. The kid needed food.

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Fitzi's Diner turned out to be an old fashioned greasy spoon sort of place and Dean's eyes sparkled in joy as the first sight to greet them was a massive, floor to ceiling pie case. Sam chuckled and grabbed his brothers arm, pulling him away and into a booth near the back. "Down boy."

"Sammy did you see it?" Dean grinned as he sat. "It's the Shangri-La of Pie!"

"Food before pie." Sam laughed. "I'm not getting stuck in the car with you after a pie binge again."

"What if I let you roll down the windows this time?" Dean asked, making him laugh again.

"Dude, I'd rather ride on the roof."

"That can be arranged." Dean smirked and then blinked long lashes at the attractive waitress who came over. She took one look at his sparkling green eyes peering up at her and promptly forgot how to speak. "Yep." Dean waggled his brows at Sam. "Still got it." Sam rolled his eyes as the waitress swallowed convulsively and then smiled shyly at his brother.

"Can I…can I get you something to drink?" She asked, voice a little breathless.

"Coffee please." Sam said.

"Same here." Dean turned up the wattage on his smile and chuckled at the girlish giggle that followed the waitress away. He grabbed the menu with a satisfied sigh. "Does a body good, Sammy. You gotta loosen up."

"I thought that was milk." Sam retorted, highly amused in spite of himself.

"Milk. Girls. Same difference." Dean spared a glance for the laughter in Sam's eyes and then gaped at the menu. Eyes wide, a reverent tone in his voice, Dean looked back up. "We…are never leaving this town." He turned the menu to his brother, pointing. "Endless. Pie."

Sam stared as his big brothers eyes actually misted over and couldn't decide if he should laugh or groan. "You're gonna make yourself sick, aren't you?"

"Endless pie, Sam." Dean sent a glance at the pie case that made Sam feel as if he should give them some time alone together. Their flushed waitress returned, setting coffees in front of them. Sam ordered soup and a salad before Dean could distract her again. Dean…ordered pie.

"I'm gonna go talk to the manager while you commune with dessert." Sam gave a short laugh as Dean hopped past him to the pie case.

After flashing his FBI credentials at the Manager, a harried looking man in his forties named Elkins with an awful comb over, Sam followed him back to his office.

"What can you tell me about Maria?" Sam sat in the rickety plastic chair in front of Elkins desk. It was canted in the corner of the small office and he wondered how the guy managed to get behind it.

"Well, she was a hard worker." Elkins squeezed behind his desk and sat. "She was uh…well she didn't have a lot of patience for bad tempered customers."

Sam nodded, pulling out his notebook. "Did she have any enemies?"

"Enemies? You mean like, people that would want to hurt her?" Elkins asked in surprise and Sam nodded again. "No, no, no. Nothing like that. She was a good person, just a little temperamental."

Sam scribbled in his notebook, looking up. "Do you remember noticing anything strange before she vanished?"

"Strange like what?" The manager asked, leaning forward, curious.

"Strange people hanging about, maybe an odd smell or temperature drops?"

Elkins eyebrows rose in surprise. "The police never asked me anything like that."

Sam smiled. "We have to cover all the bases, no matter how strange it may seem."

"Oh. Ah of course. Well no." Elkins shrugged. "Nothing out of the ordinary that I can think of."

Sam opened his mouth and then paused, sniffing. "Do you smell that?" He shot to his feet, the strengthening odor of rotting fruit filling the small office. In seconds it had grown so strong it made his eyes water and he saw Elkins gag on the stench. Sam stepped back toward the door to get his brother and gave a short cry as something struck the back of his head. Darkness swallowed his world as Elkins began to scream.

-tbc


	3. Chapter 3

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**CHAPTER 3**

Dean was halfway into his second slice of pie. "Oh baby." He spoke to the mound of apples and crust perched on his fork. "No one loves you like I do." He inhaled deeply the aroma, eyes closed and then dropped the fork with a clatter. Under the smell of roasted apple was another scent, stronger, rotting and familiar. He leapt from the booth and grabbed a waiter on his way past.

"Where's the Manager's office?" Sam. His brother's name screamed through his head. Where's Sam? "Where?" He yelled

The waiter stared wide eyed at him and pointed a shaking hand over Dean's shoulder. "Um…back there?" A piercing scream rose into the air, followed by another, drowning out the sounds of the diners and was abruptly cut off.

Dean bolted for the Manager's office door. "Sam!" He called as chaos broke out behind him. The few late diners were running for the exit in confusion and panic, instinctively running away from the evil in the night. Dean turned the knob, pushed and growled a curse when the door refused to move. "Sammy!" He put his shoulder to the door and shoved with a grunt. The stench of rotting fruit rolled out and took his breath away, bringing bile creeping up the back of his throat. Just as quickly his mouth went dry and the blood drained from his face, leaving his ears ringing. Shock held him motionless for just a moment.

His brothers' legs had been blocking the door. His little brother. Lying face down and motionless and covered in blood from head to toe. A puddle of blood drip-dripped off the top of the desk and the walls had been sprayed.

"Sam!" Fear moved him finally and Dean squeezed past the door to kneel by Sam's shoulders, heedless of the sticky warmth creeping into the knees of his jeans. He reached shaking fingers out to Sam's neck, numbness spreading through his thoughts, he looked so…dead. Dean's fingers touched blood slicked skin, pressing. His world dropped back into focus with a rush as he felt the steady thrum of Sam's pulse beneath his fingertips. Dean dropped his head in abject relief. "God Sammy." He ran a hand over the back of Sam's head and found a wicked bump under the blood soaked, shaggy hair, explaining why he was on the floor.

He rolled Sam's boneless body into his arms, propping his brothers' head on his elbow. "C'mon Sammy. Time to wake up." The sound of sirens registered with him then and the sound of the waiter tossing his cookies just outside the office door. "Sam." Dean said firmly and slapped his cheek gently. While his back had been coated in blood, his front was miraculously clean. Adrenaline was still fueling panic as Sam lay still, not even a flicker. "Come on buddy. Give me something."

As if he heard, Sam moaned softly, twitched in Dean's arms and finally cracked bleary eyes. "Dean?"

Dean heaved a relieved breath. "Don't do that to me again, Sammy." Dean pulled at Sam's eyelids to get a better look at his eyes. To his relief, his pupils seemed even and clear. "Where do you hurt?"

Sam raised an arm, reaching for his head and Dean grabbed it. "Yeah I found that already. Something cracked you but good. Anywhere else?" Sam shook his head. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Three." Sam said weakly. "And no I won't read between the lines."

Dean resisted the urge to let loose a giddy laugh. If he was cracking bad jokes, he had to be better off than he looked. The Sirens had stopped and Dean looked up to see red and blue light washing over the tables. "Think you can stand if I help? Cops are gonna be here in a sec. They see you like this, they're gonna want to drag you to a hospital." That drove Sam's eyes open all the way. Hospitals were off the emergency menu these days except in dire circumstances. They had no way of knowing how many Leviathan were out there or how many medical facilities they had infiltrated.

"Yeah." Sam said and forced his voice to steady. "I can stand." He felt Dean shift him, sitting him up and ground his eyes closed against the crashing in his skull. Dean slid his hands under Sam's arms beneath his shoulders.

"Here we go Sasquatch. One, two, three." Dean pulled him up, no easy task given Sam's height, and steadied him when he started to pitch forward. "Okay buddy. We're just gonna go out there and sit you down. Just a few feet. Hang on now." He pulled Sam's arm over his shoulders and steered him slowly out the door and toward the nearest table. Sam held his other hand to his head like he was trying to hold it together and slid gratefully into a chair. He folded his arms on the table and lowered his head onto them with a groan.

"Uh uh Sammy. No going to sleep." Dean knelt in front of him and pushed him back up, holding his shoulders until Sam blinked at him. "You good?" Sam nodded. "I'll get us out of here."

"What the hell happened?" Sherriff Wilkes voice yelled as she slammed in the door with two officers and Sam closed his eyes, the sound piercing through his abused skull. She saw the brothers and arrowed in on them, eyes widening in shock when she took in Sam's appearance. "Agents?"

Dean stood and faced her and gestured at the office. "Whatever happened to the other victims just came and took the Manager. Office looks like the other crime scenes except whoever it was had a go at cracking my…partners' skull open." Dean growled, all the pent up fear turning to anger at Sam being attacked, at coming so close to losing him again. Dean felt a hand on his arm.

"I'm okay, Dean." Sam's voice came from behind him.

Dean closed his eyes and took a breath, trying to find his balance while his freshly brained brother was comforting _him_ for crying out loud.

"Agent Jones." The Sherriff stepped around Dean and knelt by Sam. "Sam." Concern was clear in her eyes as she smiled at him. "I have an ambulance waiting outside." She touched his face gently. "Can you tell me how much of this blood is yours?"

Sam carefully shook his head, making an effort to appear lucid. "None. It's all Elkins." He gave her a wan smile as she rocked back on her heels in surprise. She blew out a breath and stood.

"I'm really getting tired of these scenes." She said quietly and turned toward the office.

"Sherriff, we're getting out of here." Dean said in a tone that brooked no argument. "You can talk to my partner tomorrow." Wilkes studied them both for a moment and then nodded.

"Come by the station tomorrow and make sure the Paramedics get him to the hospital."

Dean carefully raised Sam to his feet with a muttered 'no way in hell' and aimed them toward the door. "Just make it to the car, Sammy." He said when more of Sam's six foot four frame settled against him unsteadily.

"No problem." Sam focused on putting one foot in front of the other and managed to take some of his own weight as they emerged into the controlled chaos outside. Streamers of yellow tape waved gently in the night breeze. Officers had corralled the still panicked witnesses while paramedics converged on them. It worked in the brother's favor, allowing them to slip unseen out of the diner, past the tape and down the street to their car without fear of a forced trip to a hospital.

**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-**

Sam felt a little steadier by the time they reached the motel. He even let himself out of the car and managed a laugh at Dean as he huffed his hair out of his eyes.

"Dude!" Dean groaned. "I'm not cleaning your seat. That's just nasty."

Sam glanced back as he steadied himself on the door and swallowed. He'd left a body length bloody print on the seat. "Wow."

Dean was at his side before he could take a step. He slipped a supporting arm around Sam's waist and shut the door with his foot.

"I want a shower." Sam said as Dean got them to the room door.

"Yeah you're a mess." He grimaced. "I want a better look at that melon of yours first."

Sam shook his head and headed for the bathroom on wobbly legs. "No way. I'm not touching anything in here til I get this crap off me." Sam squinted against the glare of the bathroom lights and shuffled inside with his eyes closed for a minute.

"Alright but don't lock the door." Dean told him. "And if you need naked help in there, I'll give Sheriff Naughty a call for you."

Sam grinned and shut the door on Dean's knowing laugh. He got his first good look at his back in the bathroom mirror and shuddered. He had a vague memory of the Manager screaming. If the amount of blood sticking his shirt to his back was any indication, the poor guy was long dead wherever he was. Sam swallowed back a wave of nausea, always his favorite part of a concussion, and started peeling his shirts off over his head. He worked to ignore the wet splats as they hit the floor. His stomach was trying hard to revolt. He reached up to feel the back of his head, his fingers sliding into wet, sticky tangles and he lost the fight. He dropped to the floor and just got his head over the toilet before the heaves struck him.

Distantly he heard the bathroom door open but couldn't turn his head to look. The heaving was sending waves of pain shooting through his head and his eyes were tightly closed.

"Ok, Sammy." Dean's calm voice came above him and a moment later, a cool washcloth was laid across his neck. "Just breathe through it man."

Sam managed a nod and slowly the churning in his stomach settled, the pain in his head receding and he sat back against the tub with a sigh. Dean's hand took his chin, tilting his head up. "Open your eyes, Sam." He ordered.

Dean watched his brother struggle to keep his stomach where it belonged and open his eyes. Dean watched the hazel eyes react to the light just as they should and felt relief. He turned away and filled a glass with water, handing it back to Sam. "Here you go. Small sips."

Sam scowled up at him and made Dean feel even better. He grinned. "Yeah, yeah I'm mothering you. Stop looking like a wounded puppy on the floor and I wont."

Sam swirled the first sip in his mouth and spit it out along with the taste of bile, then let a few cool sips slip down his sore throat before handing the glass back. "Unless you're gonna get my pants off, you might wanna leave."

Dean chuckled. "I'll pass." Still, he reached down and braced Sam's arms with his own and pulled him up until he was sitting on the toilet. "Shower already. You're not the only one who needs one."

Sam looked up and for the first time saw the front of Dean's clothes were covered and spotted with blood from holding on to him. "Sorry, man." Dean shook his head and headed for the door with a chuckle.

"Just get cleaned up."

Dean listened carefully to the occasional groan from the bathroom and nodded happily when the sound of the shower running filtered out to him. He dug into his brothers' duffel, pulling out sweats and a t-shirt. He waited a couple minutes and then eased the bathroom door open, leaving the clothes quietly on the sink before stepping back out. Alone again, Dean allowed himself a hard shudder and took a few deep breaths. "Too close." He said softly and jumped when his cell went off in his pocket.

It took Sam three tries to get the water to run clear down the drain. He shut off the shower with an exhausted groan and fumbled the curtain back. His eyes widened, and then he smiled gratefully at the pile of clean clothes his brother had left on the sink. 'Daddy Dean' at work again. Sam had to sit once more to get his sweats on and spent a few minutes with his head in his hands, just resting, pain knocking back and forth through his abused skull. The sounds of Dean's voice roused him and he made himself get up, bracing a hand on the wall to get the bathroom door open.

Dean had his phone to his ear but his eyes were locked to the bathroom door, waiting and almost ready to go in and check again. He gave a relieved smile when Sam emerged finally. "Yeah, Bobby. We'll find out tomorrow. Gotta go to the station anyway." Dean pointed at Sam's bed and his brother went with an amused shake of his head and a frown. "He's fine. Got his bitch face on as we speak." He laughed. "Let you know tomorrow, Bobby."

"Bobby come up with anything?" Sam asked, lowering himself to the side of the bed. Dean nodded.

"Maybe." Dean took in the younger man's pasty complexion, normally so tan, and the pinched look around his eyes. It was going to be a long night. "Lemme see that head of yours." Dean stood in front of Sam and pulled his head down gently. If he needed more proof Sam wasn't a hundred percent, the complete lack of argument since they'd gotten back was it. Dean ran his fingers into the dark, wet strands and found the welt easily. Sam groaned and his head slipped forward, thumping Dean's chest.

"Whoa, little brother." Dean supported him against his chest and pulled Sam's hair back to get a good look. "Some of that blood _was_ yours, Sam." Dean's fingers came away red and he could see the split skin now. "I'm gonna have to stitch this." Sam grunted something unintelligible into his chest and Dean smiled. "Yeah yeah. Let's get you down."

Sam was pretty much out and Dean did most of the work, laying him down, rolling him onto his stomach. He grabbed the first aid kit from the bedside table and sighed. "At least one of us is gonna get some sleep tonight." Dean would have to stay awake and check on Sam every half hour for signs his concussion was worsening. No safe hospitals meant take no chances. He gently turned Sam's head and swabbed the gash with alcohol, getting little more than a grunt from Sam. Dean swallowed shards of anger as he threaded the curved needle. Whatever this thing was, Dean was going to make sure it had time to regret hurting his family before he sent it to hell.

**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-**

Sam woke slowly, groggy. His head felt weighted and sore as he shifted on his pillow. He could feel stitches in his scalp and resisted the urge to reach up and itch at them. Blurry memories of Dean waking him throughout the night and stopping him doing just that floated up.

"Sam?" His brothers voice fell softly into the room. "Time to get your lazy ass out of bed."

Sam smirked. "Jerk." He mumbled.

"Bitch." Came the quick reply.

Sam forced his heavy eyes open. "WHOA!" He yelped and rolled clumsily off the bed onto the floor when he looked straight up into the glassy eye of the moose head mounted on the pink wall. Dean was laughing, bent over the table across the room and finally sat back, wiping tears from his eyes.

"Dude I told you we should have gotten a different room!" Dean gasped. He took Sam's pillow to the face in good grace, happy his brothers' vision was clear enough to aim that well. He looked better this morning. His normal color returned and his eyes bright where before they had been dull and pain filled. Dean tapped the Styrofoam container across from him. "Scrambled eggs and toast. You never got dinner." Sam opened his mouth and Dean raised a hand. "You eat and I promise not to nag you like the princess you are the rest of the day." The side of his mouth quirked up and Dean backed into the bathroom laughing.

"Feel good enough to kick _your_ ass this morning." Sam grinned and Dean shut the door on 'You wish.' Sam sat, picked up the plastic fork and dug into the eggs. He didn't really feel hungry but Dean was right. He needed food. He heard the shower start, bit into his toast and then smiled. As Dean had done the night before, Sam eased the bathroom door open and crept in. Dean was singing Bon Jovi's 'wanted dead or alive' as he showered. Sam smirked, reached a long arm over and flushed the toilet.

"Oh Sammy you BITCH!" Dean shouted and then shouted again in earnest as the water went to ice.

**-0-0-0-**

Dean stalked out of the bathroom, towel gripped tight in a fist at his hip and glared at his brother. "You think that was funny?"

Sam laughed. "I think you shouldn't call me princess before you get in the shower."

"Oh it's on." Dean grabbed his duffel from the floor. "This means war."

"Ah crap." Sam groaned on a laugh and with feeling, vivid memories of itching powder flashing before his eyes.

 

-tbc


	4. Chapter 4

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**CHAPTER 4**

At some point during the night, contrary to what he'd said, Dean had cleaned the passenger seat of its bloody covering. Sam glanced up and noted the shadows under his brothers eyes. Cleaned the seat and spent the night awake taking care of him. Sam sighed, guilt suddenly tugging at him.

"Dean, man. I'm sorry." Sam said as Dean opened the driver side door. "About the shower."

Dean looked up into Sam's expressive and now regretful hazel eyes and gave him a mock scowl. "You're not going chick flick on me are you Sam? Cause you know the rule." Dean grinned suddenly. "And what's done is done little brother." He slid into the drivers' seat and Sam groaned. If his head weren't already beating a tattoo in spite of the handful of aspirin he'd taken, Sam would have banged it on the roof of the car.

"I'm so screwed."

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

"So what did Bobby say?" Sam asked as they pulled into the village proper. Sunbury was laid out around a massive park square with the town hall at its center. Even in the biting wind that had sprung up that morning, there were still people out walking leisurely along its paths.

"He said we need to ask the coroner about the blood." Dean turned along another length of the scenic square and spotted the police station sandwiched between a crowded antiques store and a palm reader.

"The blood?" Sam frowned, trying to puzzle out what Bobby's hunch was and coming up blank.

"Yeah I didn't get it either and Mr. morning grumpy wouldn't tell me til I asked." Dean smirked and pulled up in front of the station. Only one squad car stood out front but then, a village that small probably didn't need more than two or three. They left the car and pushed through the doors into the quiet station. Only two officers were in sight, both on the phone and they could see Sheriff Wilkes through the glass windows of an office.

"Dean. You don't suppose our wanted posters are still hanging up around here somewhere?" Sam asked softly and Dean missed a step.

"No." Dean replied firmly, hoping to convince himself as well as Sam. "Dark Side us are officially dead. No reason to keep them up. We're golden." Sam nodded, hoping Dean was right and glad there were only two cops in the station in case he wasn't.

"Agents." The Sheriff waved the brothers to her office and closed the door behind them. She gave Sam her best stare, studying his face, and nodded with a smile. "You look better today handsome. Have a seat boys." She hitched a hip on the edge of her desk when they were seated and focused on Sam again. "Now, I need to know everything you can tell me about last night."

Sam nodded. They had discussed what to tell her that didn't involve the 'it's a spirit' discussion. "I really can't tell you much of anything." He shrugged. "I was in the office with Elkins. Dean was out front eating."

"Pie." Dean broke in with a grin. "Endless pie."

The Sheriff raised her brows, amused and Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah, pie. I was asking the Manager about his waitress, if he'd seen anything strange. We'd just finished. I was standing up to leave and…" Sam closed his eyes for a moment, trying to bring that moment back in his mind again but it was still a blur. "Someone tried to cave my head in. Next thing I remember is waking up with Dean and the Manager's gone."

Wilkes stood and came around behind Sam. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I need to take a look, Sam. You understand." Sam nodded and felt her small hands slide into his hair. Dean waggled his brows suggestively, making Sam swallow a laugh. The Sheriff's fingers found the stitches as she pulled his hair aside to get a better look. Sam winced, the touch deepening the pounding behind his eyes and pulled his head away.

"Sorry, handsome." Wilkes came back around where he could see her. "Can't believe you were able to get up and walk out of there like that."

"Thick skull." Dean muttered. Wilkes laughed easily. "Sheriff. Any chance your Coroner's around?"

"He's down in the morgue. Stair at the end of the hall. Any reason?" She asked, curious.

"Some routine questions about the blood." Dean said casually. He stood and thumped Sam's shoulder, making him groan. "You and your tender head can wait here." He stepped out of the office with a wicked smile before Sam could argue.

"So. Serious Sam." Sheriff Wilkes took of her hat and put it on the desk, letting her blonde curls tumble free. She moved to sit on the arm of Sam's chair and draped her hand at the back of his neck, fingers in his hair. "You ever loosen up and take a night off?"

"Sheriff…" Sam began.

"Gemma." She looked deeply into his eyes, smiling. "Call me Gemma."

"Gemma." Sam said, breathless and found himself following the curve of her mouth, heavy lips, slightly parted. His hand settled on her knee, squeezing lightly. He smiled when her eyes darkened and closed. They're faces were so close, foreheads almost touching. He knew all he had to do was lean forward that last inch and he yearned too. From outside her office, he heard phones ringing and the low drone of the officers' voices and made himself find control.

"Gemma." Sam breathed against her lips and then dropped his head. "I…look." He struggled. His brain may have known it wasn't the place but his body was still arguing. He pushed himself to his feet. "Maybe, when this case is over but…"

"Not here, not now." Gemma smiled up at him and chuckled. "Well my office probably wasn't the best place to seduce you, huh." She rose and walked past him, trailing a hand lightly, maddeningly across his chest. "But damn if you don't make a woman forget herself, Sam."

He felt a trail of heat where her hand had passed. He stopped beside her in the door, looking down into her so blue eyes. "So you know." He spoke softly, reached out and wrapped one of her curls around his finger and tugged gently. "If were weren't in a police station, I'd still be in that chair." He smiled when she closed her eyes.

"Oh you'd better go find your partner now." Gemma's turn to be breathless.

Sam chuckled, nodded and left with a last look in her eyes before he changed his mind.

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"Damn, Sammy the weird factor on this job just keeps going up." Dean met Sam coming down to meet him on the stairs and turned him around. Dean stopped suddenly and a slow grin spread over his face as he studied his younger brother. "Dude. What did you and Officer Naughty get up to while I was gone?"

Sam smirked and tugged a hand through his hair, wincing when it caught on the stitches. "Nothing." Dean just kept smiling and Sam rolled his eyes. "We're in a police station for crying out loud."

"Uh huh." Dean kept grinning; knowing something other than 'nothing' had put that flush on his face and started back up the stairs, Sam at his side. "So, the blood then. Not the victims."

"What?" Sam's brows shot up. "Which blood wasn't theirs?"

"All of it." Dean pulled open the door and they stepped outside into the cold. "Not one drop belonged to any of the victims. Only thing the Coroner knows for sure is it's male."

"Wait." Sam leaned his arms on the roof of the car, a chill wind blowing hair into his eyes. "If all that blood came from someone else, maybe they're still alive."

"Sam." Dean said gently and shook his head. "You know the odds here. Don't get your hopes up."

"Yeah I know." Sam got into the car. "We could get lucky for a change." Dean only snorted in opinion of their general luck.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

"It's a Shame Pole." Bobby Singer's voice echoed out from Dean's cell phone on the table in their motel room.

"A what?" Dean sat across from Sam. "What the hell is a Shame Pole? Sounds kinda kinky to me."

"I've read about those…somewhere." Sam said, distracted and traded his chicken salad take out for his laptop.

"Why am I not surprised. Geek." Dean said with a shake of his head.

"It's from Estonia." Bobby continued, heading off the sibling argument. "Someone did somethin' the town didn't like, they'd tie the poor bastard to this pole and leave 'em there for four or five days. The townsfolk would throw rotten fruit at them."

"Ah hah." Dean sat back. "Well now I know why Casper has a stinky fixation."

"What about the blood Bobby?" Sam asked while tapping away at the keyboard.

"Sometimes the Shamed wouldn't live to get off that pole." Bobby said in a dark tone. "Some good Samaritan would decide the village was better off without 'em and sneak out at night and slice their arms and legs open. Let 'em bleed out."

"Holy crap." Dean breathed. "That's cold."

"Listen. You're not lookin' for bones here boys. This thing? It's gonna be bound to that pole. Burn the pole and the ghost should go up with it."

"We'll find it Bobby. Thanks." Sam smiled absently in the direction of the phone.

"You idgits watch yourselves. These things are supposed to be fast and vicious."

"So are we, Bobby." Dean said and picked up his phone. "We'll call you soon as we have something."

"I mean it. You boys watch out for each other." Bobby said gruffly and hung up.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

Several hours later, Dean had retreated to the TV and an Errol Flynn movie while Sam hunched over the laptop, engrossed.

"I think I found it." Sam said finally. He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to force back the renewed pounding in his head.

"Casper's pole?" Dean asked and smiled. "Tell me that doesn't sound dirty."

"Eww." Sam replied. "And yeah, well not where it is but where it came from." He turned the laptop to face Dean so he could see the image of the Pole Sam had found. The pole, made of wood, sat mounted at the center of a massive stone circle. Carvings ran up the length of the pole, victim tied to it's length. "So, this Shame Pole was buried in a salt lined pit in Old Town Estonia about two hundred years ago." Sam leaned back, rubbing his forehead. "Apparently, the last guy they 'shamed' died like Bobby said. Bled out in the night. About a month later, all the people who'd had a hand in putting him there started dying." Sam rubbed harder to relieve the knives stabbing behind his eyes. "So, the village elders decided it was cursed and buried it. No more deaths."

"So how's it end up in nowhere, Ohio?" Dean's voice came not from the bed where Sam expected it but from the bathroom. Somehow he'd missed his brother getting up.

"Twenty years ago, renovating team dug it up, figured it was worth something and auctioned it off. I'm still trying to find who bought it."

"Here." Dean's voice at his elbow startled Sam. He cracked an eye to see Dean's hand in front of his face with two pills and a glass of water. "Come on concussion boy. Take these and then you're done for a while." Dean could all but see the pain radiating off of him. Sam didn't argue. It was literally becoming difficult to even open his eyes through the pain. Spots danced in his vision. He swallowed the pills and let Dean pull him up and guide him to his bed. Dean watched him crawl into his pillow, hiding his face with a groan. Dean turned out the bedside light.

"Thank you." Sam said softly and with feeling. Dean smiled, pushing back the niggle of worry that had wormed its way into him when he'd looked up and seen the ghostly pale face of his brother. He bent and pulled Sam's shoes off, setting them silently on the floor. Getting little more than a mumble in response he tugged the blanket from his bed and laid it over his little brother. "Get some sleep, Sammy." He went to the table and took Sam's seat, turning the laptop toward him. He pushed up his sleeves and settled in to do his own research.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

Dean jerked awake in his chair. His eyes went instantly to Sam but he was still in the same position he'd left him and he wondered what had woken him. He stretched his arms over his head, yawning and then doubled over on a gag. The smell of rotting fruit was filling the room. Sam stirred on his bed, moaned and pushed himself up on his elbows. "Dean?"

"Here, Sammy." Dean dove for his bag on his bed and pulled out the sawed off, popping two rounds of rock salt into the chambers. He immediately checked the salt lines at door and window. They were unbroken. "What the crap?"

"Salt lines?" Sam asked and sat slowly, pulling his gun from under the pillow as he swung his legs to the floor.

"Intact."

"Then how?" Sam asked in confusion.

"I dunno." Dean whipped the barrel of the shotgun to the door when it rattled lightly in its frame. He went to Sam, pulling him up and steadied him as he swayed. "Too close to the door." He ground out. He pushed Sam to the back of the room farthest from the door and then stepped in front of him, gun trained.

The lock on the door clicked softly and then slowly, unbelievably, it swung open into the room. "Oh you have got to be kidding me." Dean growled.

Outside the door, just beyond the line of salt, stood a man…or what was left of him. Lank black hair hung about his once young face. As they watched, blood flowed from gashes on his arms and legs, falling in a steady stream. The gashes ran from shoulder to wrist; hip to ankle. They were shallow but many and designed to bleed out slowly. Dean raised the shotgun and felt Sam's hand on his arm.

"Dean, wait." Sam gave a light tug to stop him firing. "Can you hear us?" Sam asked. The spirit tilted it's head to the side.

"What the hell do you want?" Dean asked, anger in his tone. The salt was keeping it out but it was still too damn close for his liking.

"Revenge." Came the soft reply, hissing through the room. "Lied." The spirit's eyes rolled around the room and settled on Dean. "Killed me."

"Crap!" Dean shouted. He stumbled forward as a white hot pain shot up his left arm. Blood began to seep through his sleeve. As if in slow motion, he felt Sam's arm across his back, heard him saying his name. He looked up at the salt line before the door. The ever widening pool of blood beneath the ghost had spread until it saturated and pushed through their protection. Dean raised the shotgun and pulled the trigger. The Spirit screamed as the salt blasted through its face and vanished.

-tbc


	5. Chapter 5

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**CHAPTER 5**

"Dean?" Sam pulled him upright, bracing him with an arm across his chest. His eyes widened when he saw the now red sleeve of Dean's shirt, blood dripping from his fingertips.

"Door, Sammy." Dean hissed between his teeth. "Shut it. Fix the salt line. Hurry."

"Right. Hang on, Dean." Sam dashed to the door and slammed it shut. Helping Dean wouldn't be worth anything if the ghost came back while they were still vulnerable. He ran to the bathroom and grabbed a towel, sparing a glance for his brother. Dean was lowering himself to his knees, eyes shut tight in pain. Sam pulled the salt container from Dean's duffel. At the door, he used the towel to wipe away the old salt and the blood. Quickly, Sam poured a fresh line. He backed up a foot and poured a second line of salt in an arc a foot out from the first. There'd be no repeat of this if he had anything to say about it.

"How you doing, Dean?" Sam asked and got a grunt in response. Adrenaline still pumped through him and his headache from earlier was thankfully gone. He dropped the salt can and picked up the first aid kit, flipping on the room lights. Dean's face was white, covered in a sheen of sweat and he was panting through the pain. Sam knelt beside him and slipped an arm around him.

"Gotta get you up and to the table. Come on." Dean struggled back to his feet and still held the shotgun. He let Sam ease him into a chair and set the gun on the table so it faced the door. "Dean?" Sam peered into his face. "You doing okay?"

"I'm awesome." Dean said in a voice laden with pain. His arm felt like it was on fire and he couldn't swallow the pained groan as Sam eased his arm up onto the table.

"Sorry." Sam grabbed the scissors and cut up Dean's sleeve to his shoulder. As he pulled the fabric away, anger seeped into his eyes. The ghost had laid Dean's arm open from shoulder to wrist. "It's ok Dean. It's not deep. I'm going to have to stitch most of it though."

"Peachy." Dean gave in and leaned over to lay his head on his good arm. "I'll just wait over here." Sam took Dean's hand, holding it in place and quickly disinfected the wound. Dean jerked with a yell, only Sam's hand keeping his arm in place. "Shit!"

"Ok big brother. Ok." Sam soothed. He pulled a tube of numbing cream from the kit and started to spread it along his arm. Dean heaved in few deep breaths and then laid his head back down.

"I'm gonna enjoy ganking this son of a bitch." Dean muttered with relish.

Sam worked quickly, making neat stitches. Silently he thanked their father for all those hours as a kid suturing apples. Somewhere around his elbow, Dean passed out. Sam felt him go limp. "Dean." He checked his throat, laying his fingers over the pulse, relieved when he felt the steady beat. He rested his hand at the back of Dean's neck for a moment. "Scared the crap out of me, man."

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

Sam wrapped Dean's arm carefully, protecting the stitches and then gently propped him up, tapping his face. "Wake up, Dean. I need you to help me get you to the bed." Dean's green eyes flickered open and he groaned.

"Was kinda hoping I'd look up and see a hot nurse." He pushed himself straighter. "Busty stripper maybe."

Sam snorted. "Up you go." He slid under Dean's good shoulder and levered him up. Dean tipped to the side, leaning heavily on Sam. He was dizzy from blood loss or pain or both he wasn't sure. Sam walked him over and set him carefully on the side of the bed, helped him to lay back and grabbed a pillow off his bed to prop under Dean's bandaged arm.

"Thank you, Nurse." Dean grumbled.

"Go to sleep, Jerk." Sam pulled the blanket up and heard a whispered 'bitch' and smiled.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

Dean drifted slowly towards waking, Pain in his arm was pulling him up from the dream he wanted to stay with, the dream where Lisa's arms held him tight. Safe. "Dean." His little brothers' voice called and he couldn't ignore it. Never ignore it, not if Sammy needed him. "Come on Dean."

"M'sleeping." Dean mumbled and heard Sam laugh.

"No you're not." Sam sat on the edge of the bed, hand on Dean's chest to stop him rolling over and hurting his arm. "I've got a lead on our spook."

Dean forced his eyes open and gratefully took the glass Sam held out. "Why is this water?" He asked after the first gulp.

Sam chuckled. "Cause you need water right now, not Scotch."

"Says you." Dean retorted and handed it back. "Help me sit up." Sam took his good arm and pulled him forward, letting him rest against his shoulder while he piled pillows behind his back. Dean laid back with a sigh and awkwardly pulled his wounded his arm to his stomach. "What's the lead?"

"I think I found the woman who brought the Shame Pole back to the states. Problem is, she died about ten years ago."

"Spooky Scissorhands get her?" Dean asked, nodding at his arm.

"No. She died of old age." Sam looked away for a moment, then back. "I need to find where she lived but I don't want to leave you here alone."

"Hey, Florence Nightengale." Dean bumped Sam with his knee. "It's just a cut man. I think I can handle it. Who you gonna ask?"

This time Sam squirmed and blushed. "Her granddaughter. Sheriff Wilkes."

For a moment, Dean just stared then he burst into laughter. "Oh man what were the odds?" He ended holding his arm, tearing up in laughter and pain.

"Dean…"

"Go, Sam." Dean grinned. "I can handle myself for a while." To prove it, he tossed the blanket back and pushed himself up. Under Sam's watchful eye, he struggled to his feet and made it across the room to the table. He sank gratefully into a chair and pulled the bottle of Scotch to him.

"Stubborn much?" Sam asked, smirking.

"Well I'm a Winchester." Dean raised the bottle in a toast to Sam and took a drink. "It's in our blood little brother." Sam laughed, nodding.

"Ok." He grabbed his jacket and the keys. "I shouldn't be gone too long."

"Don't hurry back." Dean grinned. "No really, Sammy. You should be thorough."

Sam groaned and tossed a wave at him as he left.

"Okay baby." Dean hefted the bottle. "Let's see if we can kill some of this pain the old fashioned way."

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Sam didn't realize how late it actually was until he knocked on the Sheriff's door and then looked at his watch. "Crap." He turned to leave as the door opened behind him.

"You know I was just thinking about you." Her voice, soft and amused put a smile on his Sam's face as he turned back.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize what time it was. I can come back tomorrow."

She was wearing a robe, bare feet with pink nails sticking out the bottom. She laughed. "Do I look like I mind? Come on." She pulled lightly on his sleeve. "Come in and tell me what you need. I'm guessing you need something."

Sam ducked his head and caught himself watching her small, curvy figure sway into the house. His tongue seemed to stick to the roof of his mouth and he closed the door behind him.

"Have a seat." Gemma waved him into her living room. Sam sat on the wide sofa and sank comfortably into the cushions. "How's your head?" She asked.

"Good. It's…ah much better." Sam cleared his throat, telling himself 'job first'. "Actually, I wanted to ask you about your Grandmother."

Gemma's eyes widened in surprise. "Grams?" She grinned. "Well she would have loved you."

Sam laughed. "I've been doing some research. Likely areas where our killer might be hiding his victims."

"You want to know about Gram's estate." Gemma sat on the coffee table across from Sam, facing him. "I hadn't thought of that. It's certainly isolated enough."

"I couldn't find much information on any structures still standing." Sam said, eyes drawn to the vee of her robe in spite of himself. He forced his eyes back up.

"The house is gone. We had some severe flooding three months back. Damaged Gram's house beyond repair."

"Damn." Sam said softly, back at square one.

"Her old greenhouse is still there though. The cellar flooded but it's still standing." She smiled softly. "Spent a lot of time there as a kid. I think Gram's wanted me to be a gardener."

"Anything unusual about it?" Sam asked with a smile.

"No. Just your average greenhouse." She smirked. "And Gram's collection of ugly garden statues in the cellar."

Bells went off in Sam's head and he leaned forward, intent. "Statues? What kind of statues?"

"She collected them from all over. Gargoyles." Gemma stood and moved into Sam between his knees. "There's even a Venus down there somewhere." Her voice went husky as Sam's mouth dried.

"Gemma."

"No station this time." She breathed along his jaw. "Just us."

Sam closed his eyes and ran his hands up her waist to her ribs, splaying his fingers, enjoying the heavy breaths it inspired.

"Just us." He said and tugged at the knot in her robe as her lips found his. Her throaty moan as his hands touched flesh put to rest any thought he had of leaving. He pulled her down and rolled her beneath him on the couch. He lost himself in her lips, tongue, teeth, the feel of her urgent hands digging beneath his shirt and proceeded to frustrate her into frantic whimpers.

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Sam lay half dozing on the couch, getting his breath back. Gemma's slight body sprawled atop him. He ran his fingers lazily up and down her bare back. He smiled when she sighed against his throat.

"I should go." Sam said finally, with regret.

"You could stay." Gemma propped her elbows on his chest, watching his blue-green eyes. She traced the tattoo on his chest. "Not saying we'd get any sleep, but you could stay."

Sam chuckled and kissed her gently for a moment. "Can't. My partner had a little accident earlier." Worry was beginning to overcome fatigue in Sam's mind. "Not bad but I need to check on him."

"Mmm damn." Gemma kissed his bottom lip, biting it gently and then traced his tattoo again, this time with her tongue. Sam closed his eyes on a moan.

"Not. Fair." He laughed.

"Not even a little." Gemma agreed and then rolled off his chest with a sigh. She pulled her robe up from the floor and gave Sam's long, muscular frame a burning gaze while she tied it. "We're going to do this again before you leave, Handsome."

Sam sat up. "I'd like that." He cupped her face and kissed her thoroughly, slipping a hand beneath her robe to scrape along her hip. She broke away with a lusty sigh.

"I deserved that." Gemma handed his shirt to him. "I need a cold shower now."

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

Gemma Wilkes waited in the door, watching Sam walk to the car, enjoying the view. She waved as he pulled away into the darkness and stepped back inside. She gave the couch an affectionate pat as she passed, turned off the lights and headed upstairs, tired and energized at the same time. The tea she had made herself before Sam showed up sat cold by her bed. "Worth it." Gemma said with a satisfied smile. And turned into the bathroom.

"What the…?" Gemma covered her nose. The smell of something rotting, like fruit, flooded the small room. It was overpowering and her eyes watered. She turned, stumbling to the door and froze, a scream choking in her throat.

"Revenge." The word whispered into the room like a curse and Sheriff Gemma Wilkes did scream as it reached for her.

-tbc


	6. Chapter 6

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**CHAPTER 6**

Sam opened the Motel room door, careful not to disturb the salt lines. A quick, hard rain had washed away most of the blood outside their door.

"Dean?" He held up a bag toward where his brother still sat at the table.

"Tell me that's food." Dean sniffed the mouthwatering scent of beef. "Gimmee." He said hungrily. Sam chuckled and handed the bag to him. Dean pulled out a burger and bit greedily into it. "Mmf." He watched Sam checking the salt lines, recognizing that particular tired, satisfied hitch in his step and grinned around his burger."You got laid."

Sam dropped his head, exasperated and blushed. "Dude, eat your burger."

Dean did, still grinning and tapped the laptop. He turned it toward Sam.

"You find something?"

"Oh yeah." Dean managed to around the mouthful of burger. "Found our boy."

Sam sat and pulled the laptop closer. Dean didn't like research but when he was driven, he was good. He had found a scan of an old paper from the time the Shame Pole had been buried. It was hard to read, the English old. Their spirit had been accused of raping a girl. He denied it, all the way to the pole and spent each day in chains blaming the Old Town Councilmen. The same Councilmen who had accused and sentenced him. The girl died, suicide so they said, before she could be questioned. Alonzo, their dead guy, swore when he was freed from the Pole he'd prove it and have revenge. Of course, he never got the chance. The fifth night someone opened up his veins and killed him first.

"Seriously." Sam sat back. "No wonder this guy's pissed."

"They hosed him." Dean nodded and grabbed another burger. "Probably killed the girl too to shut her up."

"Then when they realized he was coming after them from the grave they dropped the whole thing in a salt lined pit and imprisoned him." Sam stared at the screen unseeing for a moment, memories of the cage washing through him, of hundreds of years trapped and tormented.

"Sammy." Dean kicked his foot under the table when he saw his brothers' vacant stare. "Earth to Sam." Panic gripped him. He was half out of his chair when Sam blinked finally and shook himself.

"Yeah. I'm here Dean." He said softly. Dean let out a long sigh and sat back. He cradled his aching arm, appetite forgotten and pushed the remains of his burger away.

"You get any info from the Sheriff before you cleaned her pipes?" Dean's question did what he hoped it would. Sam smiled, groaned, blushed and came all the way back from his private hell.

"Uh yeah. So, she said the house is gone. Flood damage, but the old greenhouse is still there." Sam went to the mini fridge and pulled out two beers, passing one to Dean. "Seems her Grams liked to collect statues from around the world and stored them in the cellar under the greenhouse."

The police scanner on the bedside table crackled to life. A frantic officers' voice called for help and the blood drained from Sam's face as he recognized the address. The beer slipped from his fingers to roll across the floor. He felt Dean's hand on his arm and he stared into his brothers' eyes.

"Oh god." Sam breathed. "It's the Sheriff. It's Gemma. He took Gemma."

"Okay, Sammy." Dean squeezed his arm hard, getting his attention. "We know where he took her. Get your game face on and let's go get her."

Sam nodded, sucking down the fear. "Your arm." He said finally.

"I'm good." Dean grabbed up his coat, pulling it on his bad arm first. "We don't have a lot of time here. You drive."

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"Damn that is creepy." Dean took the shotgun Sam handed him and studied the greenhouse by the light of the moon. All of the glass had long ago shattered but the frame still stood. Ivy crawled and covered the whole of the structure. White beams from the roof peeked out like the ribs of some giant, dead creature. It was lonely and foreboding tucked in against the treeline and he almost felt as though it was waiting for them.

"Let's go." Sam hefted the duffel to his shoulder and clicked on his flashlight. "Gemma said the statues are in the cellar."

"Bet that's what kicked our boy free." Dean commented, studying the wet ground as they squelched closer. "You said it flooded right? The water must have soaked the salt out of the wood and let Captain Hook loose."

Sam eased under the hanging ivy, parting it and playing his light over the interior. Mostly empty tables, some with long dead plants stood in rows, dappled by filtered moonlight. The old wooden floor creaked and cracked as they entered.

"You take that side." Dean nodded at Sam. "Let's find that stairway."

They kept each other in sight, as they passed down the rows of tables, eyes open for a floor hatch or door along the walls. Dean shook out his left arm, trying to relieve the ache and froze as the floor cracked ominously beneath his feet. "Sammy?" He whispered and then shouted as the rotted wood gave way and he fell.

"Dean!" Sam saw him begin to fall. He dove under the table separating them, reaching out and caught Dean's wrist. He grunted when his brothers weight snapped his arm down into the hole and started dragging him. Sam dropped his shotgun and wrapped his arm around a support beam. He gasped in relief when it stopped his momentum. "Dean? Dean!" He called.

"I'm okay." Dean's voice came up to him, breathless. "Found the cellar."

Sam would have laughed if his shoulder wasn't in danger of popping out of joint. "Can you swing back up?"

"Let go." Dean called. "It's only a few more feet to the bottom."

"You sure?" Sam strained to keep his grip.

"Do it! Before you arm falls off." Dean ordered. Sam growled and released his brother. A moment later there was a splash and a groan. "Dammit that's cold."

Sam crawled to the edge and looked over. Dean was fishing his flashlight out of the foot or so of icy water. "Don't suppose my sawed off is up there?" He called up.

"Nope." Sam crawled back under the table and picked up the bag he'd dropped and his gun and went back to the hole. "Head's up." He dangled the bag over the side and dropped it into Dean's waiting arms, then his shotgun. "Move over." Sam told him and rolled over the side, hanging by his hands. He let go and splashed down beside Dean. "Holy crap. That's frigid."

"No kidding." Dean grimaced. He gave the bag and gun back to Sam and started sweeping his leg through the water. "Yahtzee!" He said and bent, coming up with his favorite shotgun. "Hope it'll still fire."

Sam shined his light around them and whistled softly. They were in a forest of stone, wood and marble statuary. Pillars, even a grinning gargoyle and numerous fountains small and large sat in the water around them. A soft moan cut over the gentle lapping of water.

"Gemma!" Sam called and splashed around the nearest statues, Dean at his side.

"Ah god." Dean groaned. "You smell that? That is not fruit."

Sam nodded, trying not to gag at the powerful stench of decomposing flesh. They rounded a massive fountain and Sam gasped, bringing the back of his hand to his mouth to stop the bile rising. "Dean." He said hoarsely. Dean gagged in spite of himself. Bloated bodies in various stages of decomp bobbed on the surface of the water. The smell was something out of a charnel house.

"Man this ghost is one sick twist." Dean managed around his hand.

"Gemma." Sam breathed. He'd panned his light up. Beyond the bodies stood a ten foot wide, stone circle. At it's center was a tall, thick pole of dark wood, gently gleaming red in the light. Tied to it, head dropped to her chest, stood the Sheriff. She still wore her robe but it was plastered to her body with her blood. Sam propped his flashlight up on the fountain so it shone on the Pole and cautiously went to the dais.

"Got yer back, Sammy." Dean said softly, waiting for one pissed off spirit to make his appearance.

Sam set the duffel on the edge of the dais, trying to ignore the bodies bumping his legs in the water and levered himself up onto the stone. He took Gemma's head gently and lifted it so he could see her face. He put shaking fingers to her throat. Sam sighed in relief and dropped his forehead to hers for a second. "Thank god." He whispered. Her pulse was weak and thready but still there. "Dean, she's still alive."

"Get her down quick." As bad as the smell was, he was almost sure the scent of rotting fruit was beginning to strengthen. "Hurry, Sam."

Sam pulled the knife from his belt and quickly severed the rope holding Gemma to the pole. He swept her up in his arms and saw the stairs on the other side of the dais, the first landing above the water.

"Sam! He's coming!" Dean warned.

"I'm just gonna put her on the stairs and then torch it." Sam lowered himself to the edge carefully, dropping his feet into the water and waded to the stairs. Her laid Gemma out carefully on the landing. Using his knife, he cut four strips of cloth from her blood sodden robe and tied loose tourniquets around her biceps and thighs to slow the blood flow.

"Mine."

The voice, filled with rage, came from beside him. Sam looked up into the burning eyes of Alonzo. "Oh crap." He was suddenly airborne, Dean's voice calling out. He slammed into the Shame Pole with his stomach, wrapping around and falling with a grunt to the stone below in a pool of Gemma's blood.

"Sammy!" Dean saw him roll away from the post, mouth wide trying to gasp in a breath. The ghosts bleeding form appeared on the dais and Dean fired…nothing happened. "Son of a bitch." His waterlogged shotgun wouldn't fire, clicking uselessly as he pulled the trigger.

The blast of a double barrel echoed. Alonzo vanished on a scream and Dean saw Sam, still panting for air but gun held steady.

"Nice shot, little brother!"

The ghost appeared again, feet away from Dean. He felt the shove in his chest, lifting him off his feet. The seconds flying through the air made his stomach roll and then it was over. He splashed into the water and came up coughing the foul tasting stuff. "Damn I hope there's a shot for whatever I just caught."

Sam heaved a breath past his aching chest and stumbled over to his duffel. He opened it and pulled out the can of oil. He glanced up and saw Dean struggling to his feet and turned back to the pole. He fought to his feet, panting, popped the lid off the can and upended it. Kerosene coated the wood of the pole. The sharp sound of Dean's pistol made him turn to check on his brother.

"Hurry up, Sammy!"

Sam dug a book of matches out of his pocket and yelped as one of the ropes snaked across the stone and wrapped around his ankle. It gave a mighty yank, pulling him from his feet. Sam's bruised ribs screamed as he slammed into the dais. He saw stars when his head slapped down and couldn't do more than stare at the ceiling and fight to breathe through it.

"Sam!" Dean shouted. He fired into the ghosts face again, dissipating him and ran past, his eyes on Sam. "Sammy!" He pulled his zippo from his sodden pocket and flicked it open. "Come on baby. Light." He spun the wheel, and again, and a third time as Alonzo reappeared. Flame shot up and Dean smiled dangerously at the dead man. "Time to fry." Dean flipped the lighter through the air, watching as it hid the stone dais and skidded up against the pole. A second later flames shot up the length of the wood.

"Nooooo!" Alonzo screamed. He was engulfed in flames and exploded in a kaleidoscope of light, gone for good.

"Sam." Dean sprinted to the stone and threw himself up, tearing off his jacket. Sam's pantleg was on fire and tied to the pole still. He beat the flames, feeling the warmth from the pole itself beating at him, and pulled Sam clear. "Sammy?" Dean felt around Sam's pockets and pulled out his cell. He quickly dialed 911 and told them he'd found the Sheriff and where. He snapped it closed and sat Sam carefully up against his chest. "Come on, little brother."

Sam groaned, sagging his head forward and hugging his ribs. "You smell." He managed after a moment. Dean laughed, relieved and rested his forehead against the back of Sam's head for a second.

"I think we're risking the hospital this time, Sammy." Dean said and Sam only nodded. "Hey, you ok?"

"Breathing…hurts." Sam tipped his head back to Dean's shoulder. "Might…just be…the smell."

"Help's coming." Dean said, trying to reassure himself as much as Sam. "Hey, you saved the damsel in distress." Sam nodded weakly, panting shortly for breath. "Hang on, buddy." Dean rested a hand on Sam's forehead as sirens sounded in the distance.

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"No. I am NOT leaving my brother. You can let me in or you can get the HELL out of my way!" Dean shouted into the stunned face of the Doctor blocking him entry to Sam's room. They'd given him the usual spiel about waiting outside, blah blah. There was no way he was leaving Sam alone, even for a minute, in a hospital unless he knew it was Leviathan free and he didn't.

"Fine." The Doctor said, irritated. "But stay out of our way or I will have security forcibly remove you."

"They can try." Dean growled and pushed through the doors. He managed a full breath at last with Sam where he could see him. Three cracked ribs the doctors said and they were wrapping his chest now. His ankle was wrapped in a brace, badly sprained from the rope. A nurse was cleaning the back of his head where some of the stitches Dean had put in had popped out when his head hit the stone. Sam's minor, mostly healed concussion had been renewed. His little brother was flying high on hospital grade pain killers. Eyes closed and mostly unconscious, Dean could hear him muttering his name from time to time as they worked on him.

"Dean!" Sam startled awake as they tightened the bandage around his chest. Dean jumped forward and intercepted a fist on its way to the Nurse's face.

"Hey. Hey Sammy I'm right here." Dean cupped the side of Sam's face to try and calm him. "I'm here buddy. Calm down. We're in the hospital."

"Dean." Sam sagged into Dean's voice, against his chest. "Don' let 'em eat me." He slurred.

"I wont. I've got you, Sammy."

"Sir, you'll need to stand back." The Doctor stepped to his side and Dean slowly shook his head.

"Not gonna happen. If you want him calm then I'm staying right here." Dean propped Sam so the nurses could finish wrapping his ribs. "Look, he's phobic about hospitals. You patch him up, I'll take him home. Everyone will be happy."

"We need to keep him overnight at least. He needs to be watched…"

"And I'll watch him." Dean fought for calm and patience. "Being in a hospital will just make it harder on him." On us. He thought.

The Doctor scowled and glanced at his patient, now quiet and calm in his brothers arms. He sighed. "Alright. I don't like it but I understand. I'll get the release papers for you."

Dean sighed, relieved. He'd have had to bust Sam out if the Doctor hadn't given in.

"You can lay him down now." The nurse said. She helped Dean settle Sam on the bed and smiled, smoothing sweat soaked hair from his forehead. "He's really not so bad off you know." She smiled up at Dean. "It's mostly the drugs making him so loopy and weak."

"Thanks." Dean smiled and meant it.

"I'll go round up a wheel chair for you." She patted the back of Dean's hand in a very motherly fashion and left.

"Almost out of here buddy." Dean said and gave Sam's shoulder a gentle shake. "Wake up just enough to get into the car and you can sleep for a week."

The nurse returned with the promised wheel chair and the Doctor just behind her, release papers in his hand.

"Time to get the hell out of Dodge, Sam."

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"She's really okay?" Sam asked from his position hunched over the toilet in their motel room.

"I swear dude. I checked on the Sheriff before we left." Dean draped a cold cloth over the back of Sam's neck. The new concussion was playing merry hell with his stomach. "They said she'd make a full recovery. The cavalry is still out searching the woods for their missing serial killer." Dean snorted. "More power to 'em."

Sam leaned back finally and took the water Dean handed to him. He rinsed the foul taste from his mouth. "Ok. Think it's done for now." He closed his eyes and waited for the room to stop spinning.

"Up we go." Dean took Sam under the shoulders, careful of his mummy wrapped ribs. He lifted him up and groaned. "Dude how can you be this heavy when you eat salad?"

Sam chuckled and leaned heavily on him. "It's cause you're short."

"You know I can drop you right here, princess." Dean threatened as he walked them to Sam's bed.

"Don't make me laugh, Dean." Sam said, breathless and smiling. "It hurts." He sat stiffly on the edge of the bed.

"Serves you right." Yet Dean slipped an arm behind his shoulders and lowered him gently to the bed, grimacing as Sam hissed in pain. "How's your head now?"

"Kettle drums instead of sledge hammers so…better." Sam smirked, eyes closed. Dean shook two pills out of the bottle by the bed and put them in Sam's hand.

"Bottoms up."

"Man these things knock me out hard." Sam groaned but took them.

"I think that's the idea." Dean smiled. "We'll hit the road in the morning. Head to Bobby's." Sam mumbled something, the pain killers already taking him under. Dean pulled the blankets up, covered him and grinned. "Saved your ass again, Little brother." He said softly and rolled onto his own bed to watch tv.

"Saved yours…first." Came the soft, slurred reply from Sam's bed. Dean stared and then burst out laughing. Beat up, bloody, bruised and concussed between the two of them and it didn't matter. They were alive. They were together and so they were home.

Dean grinned and turned out the bedside light. "Sleep tight, Sammy."

THE END


End file.
